Breaths of Wind
by KERNTKitty
Summary: A series of vignettes about the characters from the movies that come and go from the screen as quickly as breaths of wind. The nameless ones. The first installment: The Easterling.
1. The Easterling

Ranauk brushed an unruly strand of curly hair out of his face as he knelt and pulled his twin daughters, only three years old, tightly to his chest. Their chubby hands patted his face and wet little-girl mouths kissed his cheeks. He kissed each of their foreheads and mussed their wavy, black hair, so like his and their mother's.

Then he stood, battle gear rustling, and locked eyes with his wife. What did he see inside her black eyes? Fear, that he would not return. Resentment, toward the force that took him away. Love, for him. He gathered her in his arms and clutched her tightly to him, feeling her cling desperately to his shoulders. He twined his hands in her dark hair as she wept into his surcoat. "I love you," she sobbed, "so much." He refused to cry, but he held her more closely.

"I know. I love you, too. Someday, Malík, this madness from Mordor will cease, and Iwill come back to be with you. To raise our daughters in a world where they will have no need to fear that their husbands will be taken from them to fight for a cause they do not believe in. Someday, Malík." She sniffed and nodded faintly.

Behind him, heavy footsteps annouced the arrival of his stern, stony father. "Son. You must come now. You must not be late for the mûmakil. Come!"

Ranauk realized that, despite his efforts, he had to wipe his eyes as he turned to face his father, still hugging Malík against him. "The mûmakil may wait five minutes."

"Ranauk! Now!" His father's harsh voice voice pressed him into obedience, as it always had done.

"Yes, Father," he intoned, resentment growling in his throat. He loked into his wife's eyes and kissed her gently, then squeezed his daughters' little hands a final time. Malík caught his arm as he turned.

"You will return?" She asked urgently.

Ranauk shuddered and looked away. "I- hope so, beloved. Farewell."

His wife nodded. "May your rest be plenty and your mûmakil well." She spoke the old farewell with more conviction than ever before. He nodded painfully and joined his father. On the short hike to where the mûmakil waited, Ranauk was grateful for the mask and head wrap that concealed all but his eyes, for they made it all the more easy to hide the tears he denied were on his face. In what seemed like moments, Ranauk was atop his assigned mûmakil, swaying along on its back towards a destination he thoroughly loathed: war.

He wasn't sure what day of travel it was when the arrows began to fly. All he knew was fear, panic, harsh pain, and a brief, _I am so sorry, Malík._ Then he felt himself toppling, and he knew no more.

_Captain Faramir of Gondor stood over the body of a young Easterling. "You wonder what his name was. Where he came from. If he truly was evil at heart."_

**Aww- so sad, I know. But that scene in the EE of TTT was just begging for a fanfic. So I gave it one, and now it's happy. And so am I. Tell me what you think! I don't know a thing about the names of the Easterlings, or whether they called their oliphaunts "oliphaunts" or "mûmakil". So this is all guessing, but I think it works.**


	2. Warrior Child of the HorseLords

**_Warrior Child of the Horse-Lords_**

"Into the caves! Now, hurry along!" With the rest of the women and children, a family of four clinging despairingly to one another moves through the dark opening. Inside, the mother and her three children huddle together on a boulder. The oldest child, a boy of twelve years name Eadbearn, stroked his sisters' head comfortingly. His father had been sent to fight. His mother Fetige was weeping and clutching her children to her.

Throughout the cave, soldiers milled about surveying arrangements. As one passed where the family sat, he paused, then turned to Eadbearn. "Come here, boy." Eadbearn, too unsure to respond, cowered towards Fetige.

Fetige spoke weakly, but fervently. "What do you want with my son?"

The soldier looked at her remorsefully and stepped forwards. "He's big enough to wield a sword. King's orders." A despairing wail rose from Fetige's throat as she embraced her son protectively.

"He's only a boy!" The soldier nodded soberly and set a heavy, gentle hand on Eadbearn's shoulder.

"I know. And he's big enough to fight. I'm sorry, truly, but it's the King's orders. Your boy wil do the best he can." The soldier bent and whispered in Eadbearn's ear, "Be strong for your mama, boy. Come along, now."

Eadbearn shook his head vigorously, ragged hair flying. "No!" The man pulled his away, his strong grip taking Eadbearn where he didn't want to go. "Mama!" He reached for her as he was puled out of her arms, grasping at her hand as she stretched out to him. An older woman, also weeping, Took Fetige's shoudler and pulled her into a strong, sympathetic embrace as Eadbearn's fingers slipped from her hands. "Mama!" Freya sobbed in to the older woman's shoulder as Eadbearn was led away, calling her name and crying.

He received a sword, heavy and cumbersome to his untrained hands. He watched Lord Aragorn with awe, the Elves with astonishment, and the approaching Uruk-hai with terror. He waited for the inescapable battle to come. He was all but frozen with fear, but he held out knowing that he would die defending his people. His sisters. His mother.

Blessings were thick upon Eadbearn that long, dreadful night, though his father was felled, dying an honorable death. Eadbearn, bleary-eyed and weary to the point of collapse, watched the coming of Gandalf and Eomer, and witnessed the end of the Battle of Helm's Deep.

**A/N: I know this is really short, but it's the best I could do...**


End file.
